


self-defence

by archieknight



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pre-Canon, gansey-on-fire, what else can i say my stupid insomniac babies are in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 09:23:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14517384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archieknight/pseuds/archieknight
Summary: ronan teaches gansey how to fight





	self-defence

Ronan hadn’t been living with Gansey long before he figured out that the boy’s sleeping pattern was as erratic as his own. He’d be tossing and turning in his new bed when he heard the clatter of Gansey doing _God knows what_ downstairs. All his life, he had struggled with sleep, troubled by fantastic dreams or harrowing nightmares. But he couldn’t even nod off long enough to have those dreams these days. He missed the Barns. He missed his bed and his missed his little brother and he missed his mom and dad. Mostly his dad, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to see him again. 

That kept him awake more than any nightmare had ever done. 

He could stay up and listen to Gansey busying himself downstairs, with his search for Glendower and his model Henrietta and his Latin homework. Sometimes, he’d get too restless and go down to see him. However Gansey seemed to become a different person in the wee hours, so much less composed and ten times more alive. His eyes were sharply focused under his wire rimmed glasses (their existence a new discovery for Ronan) and his hair scruffy and sticking up in every direction. His movements, as well, were far more erratic. He’d slide his desk chair impatiently across the floor, skidding around his model Henrietta and grabbing books he’d left scattered about the place. 

This Gansey was fueled by restive mania, driven by longing for knowledge. This Gansey had no brakes and an open road. Privately, Ronan would refer to this version of his friend as ‘Gansey-on-fire’ because they were the only words to describe that feeling, the electricity that sparked in the air around him and the heat burning in his heart. This Gansey, like all the other versions, Ronan loved. Because that’s what it really means to love someone; to love them in every hour of the day, to love every part of them. 

“Ronan,” he breathed upon noticing him. He’d been lurking in the doorway for a while now, watching Gansey work. His focus had only just been broken enough to notice the other boy when he looked up from his Welsh history book to grab a Welsh-to-English dictionary. “Did I wake you?” He asked softly.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” replied Ronan simply, stepping forward into the room. He scanned the streets of Gansey’s model Henrietta in the making, noting he had not spanned out far enough from Aglionby Academy to have a model of Monmouth. 

Gansey pursed his lips, and Ronan realise he was being observed in the same way he was observing the cardboard streets. His eyes were focused on the swelling on Ronan’s knuckles, the blood dry but the bruise a deep purple. He didn’t look concerned, not in the usual pitiful way he would show his concern for Ronan. Thoughtful, as always, but ready to say something.

“What did you punch now?” 

He clenched and stretched out his fist to test how bad it hurt still, wincing only slightly. “Just a wall… Maybe Kavinsky. I’m not sure.”

Gansey hummed, his thumb touching his bottom lip. That was something Ronan hated, the way he pushed out his lip because it meant that, even more than usual, Ronan could not take his eyes of Gansey’s mouth. It was torture, and he didn't even realise it. 

“Could you teach me?” He asked.

Ronan furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. This wasn’t something he’d expect from Gansey, who was a firm believer that everything could be fixed with ample communication. “To punch?”

“Yes,” Gansey nodded, “like self-defense.”

“We live in Henrietta, you don’t need to learn self-defense,” he laughed. 

“Better safe than sorry,” Gansey smiled at him. 

Ronan sighed, “Get up.” He held his palms up to Gansey and said, “show me how you’d throw a punch.” 

Gansey tried, and it was all wrong. Firstly, he’d tucked his thumb into his fist in a way that would break his hand if he’d thrown hard enough. Secondly, he tossed his entire body into the hit and almost fell over himself. Lastly, he hit more with the side of his hand than his knuckles, which was just embarrassing. 

A small smile creaked across Ronan’s mouth, it was the softest smile Gansey had seen from him. A smile without malice from Ronan was uncommon these days, since his father passed. It was slow too, unpractised and accidental. The sight made Gansey sickly nostalgic. 

Then he stepped forward, taking Gansey’s hand in his own. He pulled Gansey’s thumb from inside his closed fist and put in under the knuckle. “You’re gonna break it going on like that,” he said, his voice quiet and raspy. “Also, keep the rest of your body straight or you’ll fall on your ass.” 

“Go again,” he said. This time the punch hit but Gansey’s fist slid across Ronan’s hand. “Actually hit it. It’s my hand, you’re not going to hurt me.” He hit again, but visibly slowed before coming into contact with his palm. “Again,” Ronan encouraged, “harder.” 

Gansey tried one last time before they both sighed. “Okay,” Ronan started, then spaced out his   
feet into a defensive stance, “stand like this first- feet side on, but facing me.” 

He imitated Ronan precisely, ever the student. “Alright, now punch straight through my hand- not across it.” Gansey nodded and tried again. He punched like Declan did, like he was too scared to get blood on his shoes. 

When the punch hit properly, Ronan let out a short laugh as he said, “that’s more like it.” 

To Ronan, fighting was like breathing. It was completely instinct, taught from a young age. His father taught him and his brothers to box, which was a good way to teach them to fight respectfully, instead of their usual brawls. His father had taught him to punch just like this, and made fake groans of pain whenever Ronan punched his hand to cheer him on. It was a sweet memory stained bitter. 

“Defend your head,” Ronan told him, pulling his arm up by the wrist to guard his face. When Gansey threw his next hit, Ronan reached out one of his arms to tap the side of his head, “you’re open, you’ve got to be quicker.” 

And it went on like that, Gansey’s punches getting stronger and Ronan trying to catch him out at any available moment. At least, it went on like that until it didn’t. When Gansey’s hits got sluggish, Ronan had the chance to grab his fist in time and push him back. He smiled in that on-fire way and swung with the other hand, which Ronan grabbed by the wrist. They stayed frozen like that for a moment, Ronan smiling in triumph and Gansey’s eyes narrowed. 

Gansey struggled to get his hands out of Ronan’s grasp, pulling his arms down to his sides, but that just brought them closer. Ronan wasn’t letting go, he was showing off. “You win,” he said with a tongue-biting smile. 

“There wasn’t a fight to win,” Ronan said simply. 

“Do you want one?” Gansey dared. It was obvious now that Ronan was a little bit taller than him, but those few centimetres made a lot of difference when Ronan was looking down at him with tired eyes and an idle smirk. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Gansey. Don’t be stupid.” 

He must have taken that as a promise, because he then leaned up until his face was close enough to taste Ronan’s breath. He didn’t kiss him, not yet, he just waited. “Am I being stupid?” He asked, which would have sounded like flirting at any other time, but this was an actual question. The tone was serious, maybe even nervous.

“Definitely,” Ronan answered, then pressed his lips to Gansey’s. He pulled away soon after, unsure of what he was doing. Ronan knew as much about kissing as Gansey knew about fighting. 

“I’m sorry,” Gansey said, stepping back. His hands slid easily from Ronan’s and he turned away. 

Ronan’s ears were roaring, and he felt terribly off-kilter, like he’d suddenly been thrown into a different world. It was starting to get light outside and he could distantly hear birds chirping. Anxiety flooded through him, and the fresh light made him feel ridiculous. Did he imagine Gansey leaning in? No, he was definitely asking him, or daring him. He’d never kissed anyone before, did he do it wrong? How childish he must have looked to Gansey, having no idea what to do once their lips touched. 

“It’s getting late-”

“It’s getting early,” Ronan corrected. 

Gansey sighed, “I’m going to get ready for school, are you coming in?” 

Ronan did not think it was the time for Gansey to give him an lecture on attendance, so he just nodded and made his way out of the room. 

“Ronan,” Gansey called out hoarsely. Ronan stopped in the doorway but didn’t turn to face him. “I… I don’t think this is what you need right now.”

It wasn’t the time, he knew this. Ronan was grieving and unstable, and guilt jabbed at Gansey when he went for that kiss. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind, he would reach out for any affection he could get, and it would seem like Gansey was taking advantage of that. He wasn’t. He loved Ronan, really. But what Ronan needed was a friend, and Gansey could be that. 

“That’s not up to you,” Ronan said, and left.

**Author's Note:**

> constructive criticism welcome, this is the first trc fic ive written and i didnt proof read it bc im trash


End file.
